by Sara Orwig
“A duke’s son alone on a country lane?” one of them said, and laughed. “Doesn’t his lordship fear you’ll be set upon by footpads?”
They spread farther apart but still blocked his way. Josh’s mind raced as he studied the men. His only chance would be to keep the one from drawing his pistol.
“Shouldn’t your companion be appearing by now?” one of the men asked.
“He’s coming.” Josh felt a rising sense of panic.
“A guinea and my horse for yours,” one of them said.
“Of course not!” Josh snapped, suddenly urging Mordren to run. The horse obeyed immediately, and Josh barreled toward the man with the gun, striking him as he passed. Josh had wanted to get the gun or knock the man off his horse. He did neither, and raced past, hearing them yell.
Before Mordren could break away, two of the men appeared alongside Josh. One grasped the reins while the other jumped Josh, shoving him from the saddle. He fell, knocking the breath from his lungs, tumbling with the ruffian.
Josh sprang to his feet, but another man jumped him from behind, and they went down. A foot kicked his ribs, and something hit the side of his head in a resounding blow.
“Get the horse!”
“No!” Josh bellowed, lunging to his feet to hit a man. Pain exploded in his hand as he struck the man, and the ruffian’s fist hit Josh in the stomach. He doubled over, all breath gone from his lungs, and then another blow on the back of his head knocked him down onto the road.
“Thankee for the horse,” a man said, slamming a booted heel onto Josh’s injured hand.
He screamed in pain as blackness engulfed him.
When he finally stirred, pain tortured him from a hundred different places as he tried to sit up. “Mordren!” he cried, remembering.
He looked around at the empty lane, but only heard a bird’s whistle in the distance. “Mordren!” he whispered, and hot tears stung his eyes. He loved two things in the world, his brother, Phillip, and his horse, Mordren. His side hurt with each breath, his head throbbed, and his hand felt as it had when the jaws of the trap had clamped shut. He stared at the bloody bandage and stood up, brushing dirt off his clothes. His parcel of food was gone, but the guineas were still intact! He found his hat and began to walk, hunger gnawing at his insides.
Josh hadn’t walked an hour when he heard hoofbeats. He stiffened and looked for a place to hide, running across the lane, but his foot struck a rock and he went sprawling to the ground once again.
“’Morning, there,” came a cheerful voice.
He rolled over to look up at a man who sat astride a speckled horse. The man’s blond hair was a mass of curls framing his face, and a smile hovered on a wide mouth beneath a bulbous nose.
“’Morning,” Josh said warily, getting to his feet.
“You look as if you had the worst of a bad fight.”
“I did. Three men stole my horse.”
“Ah, friend. This lane’s no place for the unwary. I never travel without LePlum.”
Josh looked around for another. “Who’s LePlum?”
The man laughed heartily and produced a stout stick with a head crudely carved on one end. “My silent friend, Oak LePlum.”
Josh grinned. “I should have had my own LePlum. They stole one of the finest horses on earth.”
“Gone now, he is, my friend. I’m Terrence McGilly.”
“Mr. McGilly, I’m Josh Raven,” he said swiftly.
The man dropped to his feet and offered his hand. Josh started to shake, remembered his injury, and reached out with his left hand.
“Where are you bound, friend?”
“To Portsmouth to look for work.”
“You’re young.”
Josh tried to stand straighter, projecting his voice deeper as he lied, “I’m eighteen.”
“And I’m twenty-three. Come along. I go to Portsmouth, and my Ned may not be prime horseflesh, but he is stout. He’ll carry two as easily as one. Climb aboard.”
“Thank you,” Josh said, feeling a surge of gratitude.
Within the hour he learned that Terrence McGilly was going to Portsmouth in order to avoid working in a coal mine. He had no more place to stay than Josh, and his steady good cheer improved Josh’s spirits. They rode into Portsmouth the next day, and Josh could not resist staring at the sights and sounds around him.
Duke Raven had never taken either son to the city. They had visited neighboring castles on rare occasions, gone to hunt, traveled to the local villages, but that had been the extent of Josh’s journeying until now. He could only stare at the fine buildings, the cobbled streets, the elegant carriages, and at vendors hawking their wares. He had told McGilly about the duke, and as they rode along a busy Portsmouth street, McGilly shook his head.
“Aye, ’tis bad. He may send men to search for you.”
“I don’t think he will,” Josh said, instinctively feeling that his father would never want to see him again. “I don’t think he’ll want me back. I expect he’ll disinherit me.”
McGilly looked at him sharply, his gaze drifting down to Josh’s injured finger. “A father who would do that to his son—I suppose you’re right. My own father was a kindly man, but he died in the mine when I was eight years old.” He smiled. “We’ll find work and a place to stay.”
The next week Josh worked alongside McGilly as they cleaned fish brought into the docks and sold in the market nearby. At night they found a room and took turns sleeping on the narrow bed while the other took a pallet on the floor. On Friday night after McGilly washed, he looked at Josh. “My young friend, I’ll be going to a pub.”
“Fine,” Josh said eagerly.
“Without you,” he added. “You’re too young. You’re not really eighteen, are you, Josh?”
“No, I’m fifteen. But it took you a while to find out that I’m not. Let me come with you.”
“I intend to have some fun. Tonight you stay home, and I’ll see you later.”
“Terrence…”
“Look, it’s been a long time since I’ve been with a lady. Tonight, I go out alone.”
“Take me along to the pub. Then I can come home.”
“Sorry, friend. This night you’re on your own, and you’re safer right here,” Terrence said, and left, closing the door quietly behind him.
Josh sighed, sat down, and stared at the narrow room. He felt restless and caged. The odor of fish filled the air from their unwashed clothing. Standing, he looked out the frosty pane at ships moored at anchor, their spars dark lines against a gray night sky. In the distance he saw a ship sailing away from Portsmouth, the big white sails unfurled, and he felt his blood stir. During the past two weeks he had seen his first sight of the sea and tall ships, and they were a thrilling sight.
Breaking into his thoughts, a woman’s laughter drifted up from the street below. Josh turned abruptly and pulled on his jacket, pocketing the key to the room, a guinea, and the shillings he had been paid at the end of the day.
He found a pub along the docks only a short distance from his room. It was smoky and noisy and he moved to the bar to order a drink, making his voice as deep as possible. A barmaid glanced at him, her black eyes assessing him. When she leaned down, Josh saw that the low-cut neckline of her gown couldn’t quite contain all of her ripe, creamy flesh. He felt hot and couldn’t stop staring at her. She caught him looking, and gazed at him boldly as she sauntered over to place a glass of ale in front of him.
“Thank you,” he said, tossing down a coin. “You work here until late?”
“Late enough,” she said with a smile, and turned away.
Someone shouldered against him, and he heard a deep voice say, “What the hell are you doing here?”
He turned to look at McGilly, who smiled broadly, swaying slightly as he stared at him. “Thought I told you to stay inside the room.”
“I got lonesome,” Josh answered solemnly, and McGilly laughed.
“As long as you’re here…But don’t say I didn’t
try to keep you out of mischief.”
“Indeed, you did.”
“Don’t want to be a lad’s downfall,” McGilly muttered thickly.
“Terrence, you’re barely older than I am!”
“Experience. I’m old with experience. You should be in your room.”
“With our fishy clothes for companions.”
Laughing, McGilly took his arm and led him through the crowd to a table where a woman in a red satin dress smiled at him. Her black hair was piled high on her head, and Josh felt his pulse quicken as he looked into her black eyes.
“Meet my young friend Josh. Josh, this here’s Abigail.”
“Young friend, Mr. McGilly? He’s a babe,” she said with a frown.
Josh pulled out a guinea. “Let me buy the drinks, Terrence.”
Suddenly Abigail smiled at him. “How nice. Josh, wasn’t it? Maybe I have a friend who would like to meet you.”
She winked at Terrence, who sat down beside her, sliding his hand over her knee. “Remember, my friend’s mighty young,” he reminded her.
“Young and generous,” she murmured, smiling at McGilly.
Hours later, Josh leaned on McGilly as they tried to weave their way back toward their room. They sang, their deep voices rising lustily, and men ignored them as they passed the lighted windows of dockside pubs. Numbed by ale, they could no more smell the tangy odor of fish and brackish seawater than they could hear the gentle slap of waves against the pilings.
“I owe you a lot, Terrence,” Josh said thickly.
“Aye, friend. Now you’re a bit older.”
“Dorinda was beautiful. Dorinda Lucinda,” he said, and laughed. “That’s what she said her name was, Dorinda Lucinda.”
“Methinks you don’t have it quite right, friend.” Terrence began to sing lustily. “‘Oh, the whiskers of the cat are long, the ale that bubbles in the tank is—’”
Suddenly three men stepped out of the shadows and blocked their path. “Here’s a fine pair, friend,” one of them said. “’Evening. We’d like to talk.”
“Can’t talk,” Terrence said. “Can’t talk tonight.”
“Want to work? Good work?”
“At this time of night?” Josh said, astounded that three men would seek him out in the dead of night to offer him a job. He stared at them, watching them spin. Everything around him seemed to revolve, and he wondered whether there were three or six men before him.
“Outta our way,” Terrence said gruffly, and pushed one of them, adding to Josh’s amazement. Why was Terrence getting in such a huff? Terrence, who was always all smiles?
“We’ve got work for you. Two able-bodied men such as the likes of you would like good pay, wouldn’t you?”
“Get away,” Terrence snapped, pulling LePlum from beneath his coat. Suddenly he lunged at one, pushing him down. “Run, Josh! Run!”
Josh’s rubbery legs couldn’t function as a man moved toward him. And then Josh saw the weapon in the man’s hand, a short, ugly stick. Terrence flailed LePlum through the air, swinging for all he was worth. He struck a man on the side of the head. The man yelled and fell to his knees; then Josh couldn’t watch, as he had to defend himself.
He swung his arms, but he felt weak and his head spun, making him dizzy.
“You dumb oaf.” He heard a throaty growl, and then, too late, he saw the knotted fist. He tried to duck, but it connected against his jaw, sending him reeling. His head struck the cobblestones and he passed out.
He stirred and groaned, trying to sit up. His arms and legs felt like leaden weights.
“Get up here,” someone called.
Josh shook his head and peered through the murky darkness. Timbers creaked and the floor beneath him moved. His head pounded and he couldn’t think. For a moment he remembered Rector Brodkin’s threat of a dark Hades and he wondered if he had awakened in another world. He turned and stared at Terrence, who sat rubbing his neck.
“Where are we?”
“You’re a sailor now, lad,” Terrence said with resignation. “I told you to stay in the room.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We’re at sea. No doubt we go above to meet the captain and sign on.”
Josh looked around at the dim interior below decks. It was crowded with men, some looking as dazed as he felt. Ropes as thick as his thigh lay coiled to one side, and barrels were chained to the deck several yards away. It was dark and damp, filled with the odor of salt water, damp wood, and unwashed men. “They can’t just knock someone over—”
“They can and they do,” Terrence said. “His majesty’s navy does it. Many a ship’s captain does it to get his crew. Make the best of it. We’ll get to see the world. We’ll get paid. It has to be better than a coal mine.”
“But—”
“There’s nothing you can do, Josh,” Terrence said gently. “Do as the captain says and you’ll get along. The captain is king of his ship, and you have to do as he says. And pray he’s not too cruel or unjust.”
Josh felt dazed as he realized he had fled one tyrant to be bound to another. He had no more control than before—perhaps less.
“They can’t!” he snapped, starting to rise. “I won’t do—”
“Josh!” Terrence pulled him back down roughly. “Hush, man! You have to do as the captain orders for the length of the voyage. If you don’t, the floggings you received at home will seem mild.”
“Move along!” someone ordered from above.
Josh clamped his jaw closed and stood up, moving ahead silently. While his emotions seethed, helpless rage began to kindle. He was herded abovedecks with the other men. Cool fresh air hit him in the face as he stepped out onto the deck and paused, having never been at sea. Overhead, white sails were unfurled as wind filled them and the ship plunged through the water. Moonlight shone brightly, and his breath left him as he stared in wonder at the billowing sails, the whitecaps of waves, and the glint of a fish as it jumped from the water.
“Move ahead,” someone snapped and poked his shoulder. He followed the line of men and stood beside Terrence and strangers, but his attention was taken by the rigging and sails of the ship. He inhaled deeply and the rebellious stirrings he had felt belowdecks vanished. He looked back at the dark shadow of land and felt excitement surge through his veins. He was at sea! Suddenly, intoxicating possibilities loomed before him. Foreign cities, places he had never seen, freedom…He felt like throwing his head back and laughing.
He loved the ship! Whether the captain was a tyrant or not, Josh loved the wooden deck beneath his feet and the freedom he knew would be his at sea. He looked back again at land; he didn’t have a farthing to his name. No home, not a shilling—and he made a silent vow that he would someday be surrounded by as much as he had lost, by lands and home and family. And this time he gave vent to his feelings, throwing back his head and letting his laughter boom.
2
La Coruña, Spain
1814
Quita
Warm sunshine beat down on the white walls and tile rooftops of La Coruña on the Spanish coast. Along one dusty street, the houses dwindled in size to huts with chickens and pigs in the yards bordered by trees. A slender sixteen-year-old girl moved toward the shed at the back of a house, her bare feet as brown as the dust beneath them. Her long black hair enveloped Quita Bencaria as she walked, and with each step her simple brown cotton skirt swished noiselessly against her legs.
A man on a grey mare rode slowly in the lane behind the shed as Quita approached. The white cotton pants and shirt that Juan Lopez wore contrasted sharply with his dark skin. His feet were as bare and his hair as black as Quita’s. Catching sight of her, he grinned, revealing white teeth. He dismounted, and called, “Quita!”
Flashing him a teasing smile, she ducked into the shed to gather eggs, but her mind wasn’t on chickens. Unaware of the stifling temperature inside the shed, she was oblivious of all but the heat rising within her. As she gathered eggs into a basket, she glanced
up when a long shadow darkened the doorway and slanted over the straw-covered floor.
“Don’t run from me!” Juan said, looking worried. “I looked for you last night, but you didn’t come out to meet me. We need to talk, Quita.”
She picked up two more eggs, glancing furtively at him, her pulse accelerating at a brief glimpse of his broad chest, his white shirt revealing smooth chocolate-colored skin. She looked at his handsome solemn features and drew her hand across her brow.
“Mama kept me busy. She hovers near me every minute,” she answered.
“Where is she now?”
Quita shrugged, smiling at him and speaking softly. “I don’t know, Juan.” Suddenly she wondered if he was worried because she hadn’t met him the night before. “No doubt Mama is down the road chasing Manuel, or talking to a neighbor.” She took a deep breath, knowing it made her breasts thrust provocatively against the thin cotton. Juan’s gaze lowered as he approached her, his frown fading. Two years older than Quita, Juan had been the first man to kiss her. Quita liked the pleasure his touch brought as well as the power it gave her.
He ran his finger along her jaw, then down her slender throat, causing her pulse to race faster as she stared deeply into his black eyes.
“Meet me tonight,” he said softly. “There’ll be a new moon, and the night will be dark. We’ll ride down by the river.”
“Mama will catch me,” she said, caressing his arm lightly with her fingertips.
“No, she won’t. She’ll think you’re sleeping. I’ll whistle for you at midnight. Be sure to listen,” he said, and took the basket of eggs away from her.
“Perhaps,” she said nervously, her heart pounding. “Who knows what Mama will do? What if Maria is not asleep?” she asked, barely hearing her own desperate whisper.
“You can slip away from your sleeping sisters.” He glanced at the open door and pulled Quita into a corner of the shed. “I dream of you, querida. I cannot stop thinking of you.”
“Juan, not now, not here…”
“Shh,” he whispered, his mouth lowering to take hers. The moment their lips entwined, her resistance melted. She tilted her head upward as his strong arm tightened around her waist, crushing her to his hardness. His arousal inflamed her, and she leaned back slightly in order to run her hands over his muscled chest. His hand caressed her throat, sliding down to push away the coarse cotton and fondle her upthrusting breasts. She gasped with mounting desire, her hips pressed against him, and he groaned. His mouth slid to the hollow of her throat, and he buried his face in her flowing hair. “Quita, I must have you. I love you…”